sleeping patterns
by sally silver
Summary: the story of a bizarre muggle girl who's life becomes intermingled with the wizarding world.
1. Chapter 1

Sleep listening.

**This is my first proper story I hope you like it! I'm only fourteen so cut me some slack on the spelling. Open to constructive criticism. Please review!**

**- starts with muggle girl completely unaware of the magical world or her own potential.**

Evelyn sat in the back of her father's old bronze Mercedes, book discarded, eyes vacant as she gazed through the water stained glass out over Oxfordshire. There were sheep and grass and trees and a cold grey sky.

Evelyn was leaving for home. This was not something she was exactly optimistic about, school started on Thursday and Evelyn had a small mound of coursework waiting impatiently on the desk in her slowly imploding bedroom. It wasn't that her room was untidy it was just anything left in there eventually began to breath.

Tomorrow she and her mother would have to go over to Thetford to swap her gold striped blazer for a plain black one. They couldn't afford a new one. They couldn't afford anything. But thoughts of attempting employment at the age of fourteen slipped from her mind as she succumbed to sleep.

Sleep reading had become an interesting if slightly freighting occurrence. Evelyn had found that if she fell asleep reading she would often continue to let bizarre strings of words drift through her mind, it was a mater of balance if she concentrated to hard or tried to block or control the flow she would wake up, but if she didn't hold on hard enough she would loose all consciousness and, like every other occasion, wake with no recollection of what she had seen and hear in her own head.

Were they even words, or sounds, shapes, the idea of a shape or perhaps the shape of an idea?

_**What is that sound?**__ Susurrus…susserrusserrusserrus…sorceress…soraces…__**think!**__**It is a shape**__… a ship… __**A shape**__!... a snape…a snake…with red eyes…__**watching me!**__...____WHICH ME THOUGHT THAT?…__**Thought what?**__... THAT!... WAIT…. __**What?**__...THAT….__**oh**__…YOU SEE?... __**I think**__… IT'S GONE….__**i know. So…**__…__**what's left?**__...JUST US…__**just us**__…__**us**__…us…suseurrus…susurusserusserus…a differiferent snake a snake a snape asnaay… with black eyes!_

"Watching me." Said Evelyn. Then she slept.


	2. Chapter 2

Dark Awakenings.

Evelyn awoke in the dark. It was cold, damp, and painfully uncomfortable; she shifted her position and felt the rough seatbelt brush against her cheek, _still in the bloody car!_ The girl unplugged herself and felt the sting or night air in her face and lungs as the Merc door swung open and she stepped out bare foot onto the gravel steps and clambered precariously over the latest delivery of logs that no one had yet cleared from the drive.

She walked over the metal grate that was supposedly meant for scraping the mud off of any particular shoes who thought it necessary to trope dirt around the otherwise "pristine" house. In truth Evelyn's home was far from immaculate, random pieces of debris drifted aimlessly about the house and often began to generally congregate on the most assessable clear surface.

And so by shifting a few non-descriptive documents, nine books on architecture, a pile of clothes the cat had made into what she liked to call a "cat nest", the cat, and a miscellaneous flip-flop her father had used to try and swat a wasp with several weeks previously, Evelyn finally made her self comfortable on the squashy yellow sofa that faced the TV in her living room.

Once again all attempts of tackling her book failed miserably, so far all it seemed to consist of were bankers and speedboats and funny Swedish names that all sounded the same and were easy to confuse.

She tied to write some poetry on the back of a receipt that was found beneath one of the sofa cushions. It wasn't like her usual sort. It had no rhyme or pentameter and a distinct lack of cryptic interpretable narrative her other poems so often possessed.

_Remembering_

_What is it worth?_

_Twenty-one shots,_

_A bench,_

_In a park,_

_Were you used to sit and watch the crows on those cold grey march mornings,_

_Or perhaps a tree if you're lucky,_

_Birch, elm,_

_What would it mater to you?_

_Nothing, _

_You are gone,_

_Save, perhaps, in the minds of others,_

_The people you left behind, _

_So let them remember,_

_And remember you well,_

_No tomb shall mark your resting place,_

_Be free and alive in the mind of another,_

_And when they must leave also,_

_Let them be heard, remembered,_

_And so the life and soul shall be held,_

_In a mind, within a mind, for ever and always,_

_And so, now, remember,_

_And let a world of minds live on._

_Enclosed, eternal. _

_By Lucie Ross._

That was her current name for when she wrote, not that anyone read it, not even that anyone cared, it was just that she hope that maybe someone was watching her, she just wanted to be recognized as more than just a silly little girl with a silly little dream, when she was Lucie Ross she could be anyone, she could do anything.

Evelyn looked up, head propped up by pillows on the hard settee arm, above her were the peacock feathers that hung over the piano from a vase surrounded by yet more books.

It was then she realized something was wrong, what was it? Perhaps? Yes! There were no voices, non at all, practically every night for the past odd year thousands of voices would call out her, repeating her name in a vain attempt to attract her attention, she never responded.

But now it began again like every other time, the voices calling her from outside her peripheral vision, it was hard to concentrate now with the disturbing hubbub in her head but she finally saw what was the really cause for her feeling that something was out of place. One of the peacock feathers eye was missing, cut clean away, just the dulcet brown remaining, the magnificence of the iridescent green eye stolen away.

Evelyn would find out what had happened to the feather but first she would find a new one,

Evelyn dreamed of strange words and of hollow, haunted, lonely black eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

The clapping got louder. Evelyn had that moment of panic that confronted her when ever she was abruptly awoken. _I'm naked! And the mother can see me! Ok, just check quickly_, she cautiously opened one eye a fraction._ Oh thank god. _She had fallen asleep in her clothes.

"Up! Come on get up. You need to get back into your normal school hours!"

"mmmuuuh…" being mildly pathetic on demand was a skill Evelyn had found extremely useful when in want of a few more minuets sleep.

"Early bird gets the worm." the mother snapped pulling back her daughters blankets.

"Great initiative mum." Evelyn often regretted replying to her mother's proverbs when her brain was not yet open for business.

"well im making toast. Do you want some or not?"

"mmhmmph," was a slandered reply and was easily interpretable my anyone who had lived in the same house as a teenager for any length of time.

"Well its on the surface in the kitchen, you can butter it yourself once your up."

"Don't like butter."

"Yes you do stop being awkward."

"No. Refuse."

"I am not having this conversation with you young lady, up and dressed, we are leaving the house in half an hour."

"Oh joy." Two and a half hours later they got in the car and left for Thetford.

Acquiring the uniform went with out any major hitches save the fact that the mother had to be pried from several charity shops that had the pungent aroma of decaying second-handers, and that was just the girl at the till. The real concern occurred was when reaching the cross roads the old gold Merc developed an incredibly unamusing sense of hummer. And stopped. Half way across the road. In front of the oncoming traffic.

The mother swore. Loudly. Very loudly.

"fuck! Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck!"

Evelyn said nothing. The mother beat the steering wheel. Evelyn pushed the car across the road. The mother cried and said she was good. They went home.


End file.
